


Not Usually So Contemplative

by Eve6262



Category: Octopath Traveler (Video Game)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Comfort, Hurt/Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-11
Updated: 2019-04-11
Packaged: 2020-01-11 05:26:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 834
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18423792
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Eve6262/pseuds/Eve6262
Summary: Usually, Cyrus is the one blankly staring ahead, considering every implication of the very innocuous statements said. Today, Therion is the one staring out the window in the dead of night, thoughts a mystery.





	Not Usually So Contemplative

**Author's Note:**

> help I got dragged into another rarepair

It seemed almost eternal that Cyrus was lost in thought, never looking the right way or picking up on the right cues. Rarely was Therion the same, preferring brooding in the corner to benign thought; today, however, his eyes looked suspiciously vacant as he stared out the window of Cyrus’s home in Atlasdam. It was a quick stop, nothing more, mostly to adjust the majority of the party to the cold weather coming up, and while most of them stayed in the inn, Cyrus had offered Therion his guest room. He almost took the opportunity to be alone, but something pulled him into the scholar’s room just as darkness hit the sky.

This is what led to Cyrus stopping in the middle of his doorway, perplexed beyond all belief. For a moment, pure serenity flooded his senses. Therion looked like a forgotten god perched in front of the moonlit window in every way possible. His hair glittered in the pale light, his skin porcelain, his scarf burying his face, one arm extended onto a dresser nearby. It was an ethereal sight; for a moment Cyrus nearly muttered the word, until he realized the thief would definitely hear him, and managed to keep himself to just mouthing the word. 

Meanwhile, Therion seemed to come to some conclusion; his head turned a little, not to turn to Cyrus, but to look to the floor, eyes half-lidded. In this light his green eyes glittered like emeralds held to a holy light, thoughts dancing about in the background like a glittering sea.

A silent sigh. A resolve unbroken by time or tension, and a finality in every step toward the thief. Each with more effect than the last; the first made him perk up, the second turn his head slightly, the third look. Their eyes met for a moment, and Cyrus could swear that should he suffer when he dies, it would be if this was the last look Therion ever gave him. Then the emerald eyes turned away, and Cyrus couldn’t decide if he wanted them back.

“What’s wrong?” A pause.

“Nothing.” A lie in response. It rang out nonetheless with the message behind it clear: don’t pry. But Cyrus ignored it, the both of them knowing that was not a signal he would miss in a thousand years.

“You don’t have to lie to me.” Therion closed his eyes, lost in thought. A quiet murmur, definitely not meant for anyone’s ears, crept out.

“No matter what you say or do, it can’t prove anything.” A spur of determination swirled through Cyrus, emotions like the confident hands of a seasoned conductor. 

“I beg to differ. I’m sure there’s a course of action you’ll never have considered, and I intend to find it.”

Therion seemed to contemplate the idea of that, probably going through every scenario to see if he would believe it or not. A thousand moments passed before he finally opened his eyes and spoke, though those emeralds still refused to meet his own dark mahogany eyes. His mouth dried for a moment, but finally he steeled himself and spoke.

“You’re going to betray me.” Spoken as no question, as no look for affirmation, but as a statement, as though it was as true as the moon was shining. His eyes looked at Cyrus now, no longer past him or within Therion himself, but at the man cloaked in a warm coat that now seemed much too chilly. The mere idea of it sent chills through his entire body, and for a moment he wondered if he hadn’t caught something during their Stillsnow travels before.

A thousand words came to Cyrus’s lips, but all died before they could reach air- sweet nothings and reassurances, all valid responses but none that would do him favors. What to say? For once, the scholar was at a loss. He fidgeted with his lips for a moment before coming to a simple conclusion. They all died upon his lips; let him taste their meaning with unsuspecting tongue than hear them with deaf ears.

So Cyrus gently took ahold of the thief’s shoulder and gently pushed their lips together, moving in pointless, patternless pentagons and parallelograms, each messier than the last but all so gentle and soft, reassuring like a home to come back to. At first Therion had simply sat there, barely responding, just barely lapping at the water’s surface, now he joined in, moving closer so neither had to strain their necks like ostriches hiding in sand. 

For all its gentle nature, the kiss lasted an eternity, and when it was finally over Cyrus looked up at the thief, who had positioned himself ever so slightly higher on the bed, with a pure adoration and love that Therion couldn’t help but smile and look away, face burning fiercely. 

“Yeah, okay. I get it.”

And Cyrus couldn’t help but laugh as he pulled the thief in to his embrace, a warm home for someone who had none to speak of.

**Author's Note:**

> Hi it's me I'm not dead
> 
> I'll probably write more of these in the near future because I recently got octopath and I'm screaming these two are beautiful together


End file.
